


At The Stroke of Midnight

by Sea_Witch



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinderella!Harry, F/M, M/M, fairytale fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sea_Witch/pseuds/Sea_Witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella!Harry AU, I will post more if I get good feedback!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ball

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this has been done before and I know that it's very corny but I couldn't get it out of my head so here you go. Hope you like. Feedback is welcome as always! Thanks.

A sudden squeal from the front hall made Harry Potter jump and nearly crack his head on the counter.  
"VERNON! DOLLY! COME HERE, OH COME SEE!" came his Aunt's pitchy voice, and Harry sighed. What could it be /now/?

A few minutes later the family of three came spilling into the kitchen, the Dursleys' daughter waving a parchment in Harry's face. "I've been invited to a party!" Dolly squealed, smacking his cheek with the invitation. "And you can't come!" she added, sounding delighted.  
"Who would invite /you/ to a party?" Harry mumbled, looking up from the floor he was scrubbing and earning a swat on the back of the head from his uncle.  
"The /Malfoys/ are throwing a celebration for their son's sixteenth birthday. Vernon works with Mr Malfoy at his winery, and we were invited," Petunia preened.

"Why can't I come? I've hardly left the house in days," Harry murmured, looking around the sparkling clean kitchen.  
His uncle scoffed. "Of course you can't go. This house is a mess, and we can't have you embarrassing us, the Malfoys are a distinguished bunch."  
"This house is spotless," Harry returned grumpily.  
Vernon grabbed him by the back of his neck, wrenching him up from the floor. "If I find out you've been using your hocus-pocus nonsense to clean my house, I'll have your head, boy. Remember that. I will not have it under my roof."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn't as if he could use magic now anyway, since they'd confiscated his wand. "I haven't. And I still don't think it's fair I can't go. I mean, I earn my keep around here more than she does," he mumbled, gesturing to his cousin. "You don't even have to act like you know me, I just want to get out of the house."  
Vernon glared at him, but Petunia spoke up. "Fine, you can go," she said, to equally shocked expressions from both her husband and her nephew. Harry had never /ever/ been allowed to an event before. "...What's the catch?" he asked tiredly, knowing it was too good to be true. She walked over to the counter and sorted through the mail, writing something on the back of an unimportant envelope and handing it to him. "You finish all these chores before it's time to go- and find yourself something decent to wear- and you can," she said, smirking a little as she handed over the list. Harry looked it over with dismay.  
"This will take me a week! The invitation is for tomorrow," he said. And where was he supposed to find something to wear? He'd never met them, but he knew from talk how wealthy the Malfoys were, and surely any 'celebration' they were throwing would be a black-tie event. The Dursleys barely gave him /wearable/ clothes, let alone nice ones.

"I suggest you get to work, then, cousin," Dolly snickered, hugging her invitation as if it were a stuffed animal that she was crushing between her fat arms. She went skipping off with it to begin getting ready, her obnoxious pigtails swinging as she went. Harry sat back down on the floor and sighed, looking over the list as his Aunt and Uncle went off. "I'll start with the outside stuff," he murmured to himself, getting up.

As soon as he was up on the ladder to clean the gutters, it started pouring. And continued on doing so for the rest of the day as he worked outside the house. Once the gutters were cleaned out, the siding scrubbed down, the muddy gardens weeded, the hedges trimmed, the shed reorganized, and the leak in the roof was repaired, he finally went back inside just as evening was falling and he had to go in and make dinner for his family. He was not allowed food because he tracked mud into the house, thanks to the rain, and while the others ate he had to put on fresh clothes and scrub the kitchen floor again because of the 'mess' he'd made. After washing their dishes he moved on with the rest of his chores, and the next thing he knew Petunia was coming downstairs to yell at him because 'It's two o'clock in the morning why are you vacuuming the living room?!'

And so Harry was banished off to bed, and when he was next aware it was of Dolly squealing in the hallway. "Ooooooooh, look at it daddy!" came her shrill voice. "Isn't it /lovely/?"  
Harry dragged himself out of bed to go and see what all the fuss was about, and opened his door to see Dolly spinning about in the hallway in a dress and mask that Vernon had apparently gone out and bought for the celebration. Not even it's exquisite design could make Dolly look less like a pig in a dress.

"It's lovely, darling," Petunia supplied when Vernon didn't speak and only smiled. "That Malfoy boy isn't going to know what to do with himself," she cooed, straightening her daughter's hairdo.  
"Oh, please," Harry muttered under his breath. The Malfoys' son would have to be blind and stupid to think anything much of /Dolly/, who was even uglier on the inside than she was out.  
But a sudden slap from his aunt shut Harry up right quickly, and he scurried off to make breakfast and try to finish his endless list of chores she'd assigned him. He had scratched off a pleasing number of them last night before he'd been sent off to bed. He /might/ be able to get them all done before it was time to leave for the party.  
But there was still the matter of finding something other than his usual rags to wear. He doubted they'd even let him near the door in his normal clothes; the Malfoys were millionaires, they lived in a mansion that Harry would argue looked more like a castle (having had to look at it while waiting in the car on more than one occasion), surely they wouldn't want some scruffy looking teenager wandering their party in obvious wonder and discount-store clothes.

He didn't even know where to start looking. Any of Vernon's clothes would fit him like a tent, and he didn't have any friends to borrow from. He thought long and hard about this as he worked his way down Petunia's chore list, racking his brain for any way he could come across decent clothes. He decided he would just have to do the best he could with what he had. He had learned to sew out of survival; his cheap clothes were always tearing at the knees and elbows from all of the cleaning he did, he could probably fashion something at least passable.

But as he was on his last chore, he heard Dolly's voice from the front hall. "LEAVING NOW, COUSIN! SORRY YOU COULDN'T MAKE IT!" she squealed all too happily. Harry wanted to strangle her and cry at the same time. He wondered if people even knew he existed outside of these walls and Hogwarts. He looked out the front windows and watched his family pile into their car, all dressed up and ready to go.  
"I'm never going to get out of here," he sighed sadly, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. A white and grey cat with large yellow eyes came slinking down the stairs, climbing into Harry's lap and purring, trying to comfort him. "Not now, Hedwig," he mumbled, petting the transfigured owl, which his family had forced him to change while he was home because they 'couldn't have a bloody owl living in the house like freaks'.

A little while later there was a knock on the door, and Harry looked up from the soft fur of his 'cat' to go and answer it. He'd been told never to answer the door when the others were not home, but a quick glance through the peep hole told him it was only Ms Figg, who already knew that he existed, so he figured it was alright. He opened up the door.  
"Hi Ms Figg. Sorry, my family isn't--" before Harry could finish his sentence, the old woman was pushing past him into his house more quickly than he'd ever seen her move before. "M-Ms Figg?" he stuttered in surprise as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the living room. "What are you-"

"Oh, hush child," she said, poking at him and looking him over as if he was a piece of meat she was considering.  
"But why are you in my-" Harry began.  
"I said hush!" she said, walking around him and making him feel quite awkward. "Hmm... No, that wont do... Well, yes, I can work with that... I'll have to change that entirely, oh my... hmm..." she muttered to herself as she walked around him, until Harry couldn't stand it any longer.  
"What are you doing?!" he demanded, turning to face her.  
She only smiled at him. "Well, you want to go to that party, don't you?" she asked, leaving him utterly confused. "That's what I thought. Now," she reached into her ancient-looking coat and pulled out what Harry was surprised to recognize as a wand. "I may not have much magic in me, but I think I can manage this one," she murmured, regarding him with slightly narrowed eyes.  
"Wha- Ms Figg, I didn't know you were-"  
"Yes, yes, I know. There's quite a bit you don't know, child," she said, rolling her eyes and her sleeves at the same time. "Now hold still, I'm not fantastic at this and I don't want to hurt you." Harry didn't bother to argue anymore, he was beginning to think this was all a dream anyway. "Hmmm. Let's try... Mutatio! Facere Qualitatem!"

A flash of light blinded Harry and threw him backward over the back of the couch, leaving him coughing and sputtering. "Hey! What was that for?!" he asked, pushing himself up off the floor.  
"See for yourself," the old woman said pridefully, gesturing to the mirror in the corner. Harry walked over to it and his eyes flew wide, and he looked down at himself in disbelief. "What- how did you-" Harry found himself suddenly dressed exquisitely; a finer suit than he had ever lain eyes on, and his hair was actually managed- it didn't look bad at all, if he did say so himself. The greatest change was the color; it had been glamoured to look brown, less recognizable than his messy black locks-, and the top half of his face was concealed with a mask that looked vaguely like a lion. "Woah," he mumbled, turning in front of the mirror.

"Yes, yes, you look fabulous. Now if you're quite finished oogling over yourself, you're late for a masquerade party," Ms Figg interrupted, and Harry turned to look at her.  
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "I didn't even know you were a witch- I--"  
But the old woman cut him off again. "Ah, there'll be time for all of that later. Right now I've got to get you to that party."

"What's so important about this party, that you went through all this? How did you even find out about it?" he asked as Figg was leading him outside. "And the Malfoys live all the way across town, how am I-"  
Once again, she interrupted him. "All of your answers will be brought to light this evening, Harry," she said, holding onto his arm and her wand. "Are you ready?" she asked, and Harry braced to be knocked back again. But no impact came; instead there was the sickening feeling of being sucked into a vacuum, stretched and contorted until suddenly it all stopped, and he was standing beside Ms Figg outside of an enormous and familiar estate. "Don't forget, you must return home by midnight!" The old woman pushed him forward, smiling, and disappeared with a pop.

"Well, great. How am I supposed to get home?" he asked himself. Surely if the Dursleys saw him here, dressed like he was, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He'd get a /month/ locked in the cupboard with near zero meals.  
With a sigh he resigned himself to whatever may come. If this was going to be his last night of freedom, he may as well enjoy it. He walked up to the front of the mansion where there was an actual butler at the door, letting people in. "A friend of monsieur Draco, yes?" the man asked, giving Harry an up-and-down look that seemed at least approving. The Malfoys had moved from France just that spring, and already they were at the top of the town's social ladder. Granted, their exorbitant wealth and the fact that they had purchased the largest mansion around had everything to do with it.

"Yes," Harry lied. He had never even /met/ the Malfoys or their son, and he didn't have any friends, let alone millionaire socialite ones. The butler let him inside, and he was immediately struck breathless by the inside of the place. The entrance hall was nearly the same size as the one at Hogwarts, and it was already filled with guests. Harry hadn't even known that many people lived in their area...

"Bonjour!" A friendly-looking woman greeted him. Her mask was patterned in black and white, matching her dress. "A friend of monsieur Draco?"  
"...Yes," Harry lied again. He really hoped they didn't bump into this Draco kid, or his act was going to fall apart in seconds.  
"Velcome!" the woman said, taking his arm and half-dragging him down the stairs and into the Hall.  
"Um, where are we going?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.  
The bright woman smiled at him. "To see monsieur Draco, ov course!" she said, and Harry protested immediately.  
"Oh- no, no that's alright, I've just seen him the other day actually I think I'll-" but he was cut off once more.

"Oh, nonsense, Madame Malfoy has been keeping heem very beesy these last days preparing for ze party," she said lightly, and proceeded to drag Harry to a section of the hall near the back, where a small group of people about his age were gathered, with the one that must have been Draco sitting at the head of them in what Harry would describe as a throne, looking completely at ease. His mask hinted at being modeled after a snake. Harry disliked him instantly. But there was something... intriguing, about the regal boy.

The blonde gave him an up and down look with a different type of approval than the butler outside had, and suddenly Harry wanted to hide behind a plant. Anything to get away from those stormy, critical eyes.  
"Who are you?" he asked with a thick French accent, and Harry cleared his throat, thankful that the maid who had escorted him here was already gone away.  
"I'm uh... My parents work with your father," Harry excused, trying hard to sound as comfortable as this boy looked. The blonde was all long lines and pale skin and /refined/, Harry thought he looked like the kind of kid who had had private tutors and music lessons his whole life. Which he probably had.

"You have a name, yes?" the boy asked, getting up from his 'throne'.  
Harry looked at him uncomfortably. "Er- yeah. It's- it's... James," he lied lamely. Better to risk his Uncle not to hear the name 'Harry' getting thrown around at this party.

"James," the boy repeated, eyeing him with curiosity. Harry may have just been paranoid, but he thought he saw the boy's eyes flicker to his forehead. He scolded himself for thinking how nicely the syllable rolled off the French boy's tongue.  
"Vell, I hope you eenjoy yourselv tonight, James," Draco said. "My mother has been preening me for veeks for zis avent, been fretting about ze house like a madwoman," he said, flashing a dazzling smile of the whitest teeth Harry had ever seen.  
"...I'm sure that I will, thank you. This house- your house, it's... amazing," Harry tried, hoping the compliment wouldn't bring a negative reaction out of the blonde. Surely people gush all over him all the time, Harry, don't you think he's sick of hearing that? he scolded himself.

But the rich boy only sighed, looking around. "Yes, eet ees nice. But eet ees not home," he said, making a bit of a face. "Home in France vas much more comfortable, dees house..." He shook his head. "I should not speak zis way. Fazer vould not approve." He seemed to be talking to himself, and Harry looked at the others in the room a bit awkwardly. They only shrugged and pretended not to notice. A moment later Draco snapped out of it.

"Vell, velcome, James," he said, blinding the green eyed boy with his smile again. "Eenjoy yourselv."  
With that he turned back to his little crew, seeming to release Harry from their little introduction. Harry stood there awkwardly for a couple of moments before slipping back out of the curtain, deciding to hit up wherever the food was.

While Harry was sitting on a stair and eating the plateful of food he'd collected- he'd only taken stuff that he could identify, which limited his selection severely- he noticed what could best be described as a queue, of young ladies waiting to meet 'sweet monsieur Draco'. He spotted Dolly among them and nearly choked on his drink. "Good luck, /cousin/," Harry muttered under his breath, leaving his empty plate with a butler and going down a corridor that he'd spotted. He figured he could probably get in trouble for exploring, but he was about to face the wrath of his uncle and a month in the cupboard anyway, so he might as well do what he wanted with his night of freedom.

He had been walking around the mansion for a while when he heard something up ahead. What /was/ that? It sounded like music, but he could tell it wasn't the band that was playing in the Hall.  
Harry followed the sound curiously, turning down corridors until he heard it become a bit louder, and a bit more, and a bit more. What was that? Someone was singing... That was what it sounded like anyway.

He finally found the room. The door was cracked open, light pouring into the dim hallway from within. He approached the doorway and peeked through the crack. How had Draco gotten away from his own party? From all of those ladies that were obviously crooning over him?

Harry didn't have too long to wonder about this before he found himself so lost in the boy's song that he hardly noticed him moving until the door opened the rest of the way. "Oh- oh, I'm sorry, I was just... lost," he excused, looking down the corridor. The blonde gave him a look. Averting his eyes again, Harry looked behind the boy instead, to the piano. It was a beautiful instrument, reflective like it was made entirely of mirrors, aside from the brilliantly white keys.

But more distracting than this was the ceiling. It was like the one at Hogwarts; charmed to represent the sky outside. Harry looked back to Draco with wide eyes. "Y-You have magic?" he asked, and the boy jolted. "You're a wizard?"

"Vha- no," Draco shook his head quickly. "Dere is no such teeng." Harry saw the boy's hand twitch toward his pocket, where the a handle of dark wood peeked out of his silk pocket..

"You have your wand! So do I- mine is here in my coat-" Draco cut him off there.  
"You haf a wand? ...you must go to Hogvarts, yes?" the French boy asked very quietly, and Harry nodded, grinning. He'd found another wizard! He'd never expected that out of the surrounding area of Little Whinging.

The Draco boy glanced up and down the corridor, before grabbing Harry and pulling him into the room. "I knew zer was sumfing about you!" he mused, and Harry fought back a ridiculously out-of-place blush. "Erm... thank you?" he attempted.  
"So what es Hogvarts like?" he asked, tugging Harry by his wrist to come and sit down on the boy's polished piano bench. "My mum es makeeng me go there thees year, seence we moved. I want to know, what es the school like?" he asked again.

The dark haired boy was made irrationally nervous by how close Draco had sat to him - their legs were brushing, but he ignored it as best he could. Harry spent time telling the blonde all about the school which they would both go to that fall, since Draco had transferred from his French school.  
"Ah yes, my fazer was in ze Slytherin Houze," Draco nodded. "He lived in England ven he was young, moved to France with my mother. I suppose I will be in zat house as vell, my family has been for generations." Harry shrugged slightly, though he had no doubt that Draco was right; the blonde struck him as /distinctly/ Slytherin.  
"Probably. But if you wanted to be in a different House, the Hat takes your choice into count," he said. Draco frowned, and Harry realized he didn't know what the Sorting Hat was. "When you get to the school, there's this charmed hat that everyone tries on. It looks through your mind, and tells you which House you're in," he explained. Draco surprised him by looking... put off.  
"That sounds filthy," the French boy said, earning a bright and amused laugh from Harry, who blushed immediately after.

Stupid traitorous cheeks. "It isn't so bad," Harry assured him, but Draco didn't seem to hear; he'd gone all smiley at the sound of Harry's laugh, which just made Harry flush more. Draco looked up as if called by some voice that Harry didn't catch.  
"The dances," he said, almost sighing. Then he looked back to Harry and smiled. "Come. My mozer said I would haf to dance, but she never said who with."  
Harry's eyes widened as he was being tugged from the piano room, realizing what he was being taken to do. "Oh-oh, no, no, I don't dance," he stammered as Draco tugged him along down the hall with a surprisingly stone grip. "I can't."  
Draco looked at the protesting lad over his shoulder and smiled crookedly, rendering Harry breathless with the wry look. "Eet is all in ze leading," he said, pulling Harry along beside him as he walked through the twisting corridors back toward the main room Harry had walked through in the front of the mansion. "And thankfully, zat is sumfing I know how to do."

Despite his many protests, Harry found himself shortly standing out near the center of the floor. They had come in during the middle of a dance, so thankfully people were dancing around them so that they weren't the center of attention or anything, but it was still embarrassing. Especially as Draco stepped close to him, putting one hand on Harry's hip and the other in his embarrassingly clammy hand. If Draco noticed, he didn't let it show. "Just follow," the tall blonde directed smoothly, falling into the rhythm of the song that rang around them. Harry wasn't one tenth as graceful as he was, and had to put most of his attention toward not stepping on Draco's expensive shoes. So he didn't notice really how close Draco was standing until he had to tilt his head back to look at him, pink tinting his cheekbones.  
"You were right; easy," Harry lied, and he thought he heard Draco laugh softly. Even so quiet, the sound was spellbinding, and Harry felt himself go breathless again. He managed to make it through the remainder of the dance unscathed, and was surprised when Draco held onto him when it ended. "Another?" Draco requested in his musical voice, and Harry knew there was no hope of him resisting.

 

It was actually several dances later - exactly how many, Harry had lost count - when Draco finally deemed it enough. Every time a song had ended, Harry had pointed out some lass who was standing to the side and quite obviously wanting to dance with the birthday boy, but he had payed them little mind, only saying something like "Why Mozer even bothered with them eez a meestery" that Harry didn't understand but didn't question.  
Now the blonde was leading him away from the dance floor, up some stairs and through an arch way and a pair of tall open doors. A nonsensical wave of anxiety washed over Harry when he realized they were now outside in what must have been their back yard, but seemed more like the exquisite gardens of some palace Harry would only ever see in pictures. There were little lanterns and fairy lights scattered about, giving the garden an enchanted feel, but nothing caught Harry's attention more than Draco, whose pale features seemed to glow in the light of the cloud-muffled moon above them. "Much better out here, eesn't it?" Draco breathed, looking around the gardens. "Quieter. Less... crowded, stuffy." Harry nodded silently in agreement, not wanting to say something and sound stupid. "Thees ees my favorite part of ze new houze. It ees just like the garden at our old one."  
Harry smiled faintly, gazing around the large gardens. "...It is beautiful," he managed, blushing when Draco smiled at him. "Yes, I theenk so," the blonde agreed airily, turning to his nervous guest. "Also quite private. Intimate." Harry let out a tiny, nerve-laced laugh, but froze as Draco closed the already-thin space between them.

Suddenly pale lips were pressed against his and whether his heart was thudding or had stopped altogether, Harry wasn't quite sure. Why would Draco kiss him? He didn't know who he was - hadn't even seen the top half of his face. But after a moment or so none of that mattered, because when Harry didn't yank himself away Draco took it as encouragement, and suddenly his hand appeared on the small of Harry's back, the other on the back of his neck, leaning him against the bridge railing they'd been leaning their elbows on just a minute ago. Harry held back a shaky sound as this godlike creature kissed him expertly and nearly made him fall to pieces, but when that rolling French tongue of his flicked against Harry's lower lip it snapped him back to his senses. He could hear the multiple large clocks inside the castle chiming... eight, nine, ten, eleven... Twelve. How could it be so late already?

It killed him to push Draco away, but he made himself do it. He could feel himself shifting; the tricks Figg had put on him were fading already. Thank goodness for the mask. "I-I'm sorry, I have to leave. My family- I have a strict curfew," he made up, stepping away from the slightly dejected-looking boy. "I'll see you at school, okay?"  
Harry doubted he would see him again before then - doubted he'd even get out of the house before then. At that point he couldn't stand to look at the confused expression on Draco's face anymore. He could hear the French boy calling after him, but he just turned and hurried back inside, trying not to look like he was running as he went back through the house, pushed past the butler, and stumbled out onto the street in front of the Malfoy estate. "Figg!" he called, as if trying to summon her. He heard a pop, and turned around to see not her but a shoe, sitting on the sidewalk. Must be a Portkey, he decided, bracing himself before grabbing the shoe.

Harry felt himself stumbling across a floor, and when he opened his eyes he was standing just inside the door of Number Four Privet Drive. His family was staring at him, seemingly having just arrived home as well, and his uncle's glare was murderous.

"You left the house?" Vernon asked, outraged. "Out until midnight, when you weren't supposed to stick a /toe/ outside this front door?!" Harry had been right about the punishment thing. At least Vernon didn't know where he had really been.

By the time Harry was sent off to bed that night, nearly half an hour after Dolly, he had a black eye, a bruised cheek, a lump on his temple, and one of his ribs may have been broken, but he wasn't sure. Apparently Vernon had chosen to also take out the anger that Dolly had never gotten a dance with the Malfoy boy on him. Harry tried to find some small comfort in the memory, but he really couldn't, so he just trudged up to bed, holding a piece of ice he'd snatched from the freezer against his swollen cheek.

 

oOo

 

"You don't know who he was?" Narcissa asked, laying her manicured hands on top of the polished piano, and Draco shook his head. "I have no idea. I never saw under his mask. All that I know ees he had brown hair, he said he was called James, and he ees a wizard. He goes to Hogwarts," her son answered, and Narcissa sighed. She reminded him that his father would not like this, not at all, but promised to do her best at convincing Lucius when the topic came up. "Thank you, Mum," Draco said with relief, and that was enough to make her promise worth making.

The Malfoy heir was released from piano lessons, and he went back up to his room, fiddling with the wand he'd found on the ground after 'James' ran off that night a few days ago. It was all he'd been able to think about the past couple of days.


	2. The Wand

When days went by and neither mother nor son in the Malfoy house could think of how else to locate the topic of Draco's recent daydreams, Draco finally turned over the one clue that he did have; a nice, supple wand of holly that the boy had luckily - for Draco at least - left behind.

"Surely Monsieur Olivander weel remember who thees wand belongs to, Mum?" the boy had asked, and his mother had to agree at the hopeful glint in his eye. "Yes, Draco," she nodded. "I have heard that he remembers every wand that he has sold, quite a gift. If we take thees wand to him, I am sure that he weel be able to tell you."

oOo 

"Draco, what /are/ you talking about?" Lucius asked after the boy had shouted in frustrated French for about three minutes. "What's happened?" 

"I weel tell you what happened, Fazer! I went to Monsieur Olivander to find out who left thees wand at the party, and he refused to tell me! And do you know why? Because he 'doesn't want to put eenformation eento dangerous hands'!" the boy groaned. "Our last name eesn't always a theeng to demand power, fazer, sometimes eet calls for distaste." 

Lucius Malfoy looked scorned. "Well that was rather disrespectful of him, and I'll be paying a visit to his shop, be sure. But tell me, boy, why you need such information?" 

Draco hesitated, unsure of whether his mother had communicated the situation with his father yet. "...I seemply want to return thees wand to eets owner," he excused. "Wheech would be much easier eef the name Malfoy deed not darken people's faces when they hear eet!" 

"You'll not speak to me in such a blaming way, Draco, or you'll find yourself punished," Lucius said firmly, which leashed his son's temper expertly. "Besides, if the owner of that wand is careless enough to leave it behind and go days without returning for it, it is likely that they have gone and purchased a new one." 

Draco kept his frustrated grumbling confined to his own head, and said no more, simply nodding himself out of the room and going to the chamber that housed his grand piano to wait for his mother to return home from her own shopping venture. As he sat on the bench and plinked out a few mellow notes, he thought of the boy he had sat there with just a few evenings ago. He didn't know very much about him, had nothing more than a first name and a wand to go on, didn't even know what he looked like apart from the lips he had kissed and those glowing green eyes that had peered out at him from behind that mask. But he still could not stop thinking about him. 

"Ah, my mysterious James," he sighed at the keys before him. "What have you done to me?" 

oOo 

Of course, Harry was a bit too busy to do much daydreaming. Ever since the Dursleys had come home to find he'd been out of the house the night of the party, they'd been making his life even more hellish than before. Petunia would wake him up earlier and give him multiple redundant chores to do before he even had to make breakfast, of which he was only allowed about half of the scraps they usually gave him - Harry was pretty sure they were giving more food to the stray cats, at this point, than him. 

And then, after he'd been forced to watch them eat breakfast while he nibbled on toast, Harry was sent off to do yet more chores, and whenever Vernon was home he was sure to hover near him and scold on any little detail that Harry might miss, like "That one tile isn't quite as polished as the others, do it again," or "That hedge there, it's shorter than that one. Trim them both over," as well as constantly calling on Harry to stop in the middle of what he was doing to fetch him beverages. Upon the time of Harry returning with his drink, Vernon would spit "Now stop getting distracted and get back to work," and give him a beating nearly every night to 'remind him that he wasn't getting off easy.' It kept the bruises nice and fresh.

It was pretty obvious why, by the time school came around, Harry was more ecstatic than ever to get out of his house. 

oOo 

For Draco, the few remaining summer weeks that seemed to stretch for years were not filled with more discomfort than usual, and in fact featured a bit of sympathy from his mother, apparent in her tone and gentle nudges of kindness like bringing him home small trinkets and treats from the store when she would go out. But she could tell that the only thing Draco wanted brought to him was the owner of that wand which he kept tucked up his sleeve beside his own.

Narcissa felt terrible, seeing her boy in such distress - never before had she seen him pine over someone so, and he had been introduced to dozens of potential partners in his life. This mystery boy, she didn't know who he was - there had been no James on the invite list - and the effect that his elusiveness had on her son succeeded in dampening her spirits, more than this final confirmation of what she had pseudo-feared about her son's sexual inclination for some time now. While Narcissa herself wasn't too bothered by it, she knew that the same would not be true for her husband.

She had taken any measures she could think of to try and figure out the owner of the wand - she had gone back to Ollivander's shop, but been met with the same answer as Draco. She had gotten hold of the wand when Draco was showering and tested to see what its last spell had been, but it had been so unused that her spell didn't work, which made her curious. It must have been an underage wizard who wasn't allowed to use his wand outside of school, and so the item had likely been dormant for almost two months. She had even tried to go into Ollivander's registry; because apart from in his big old brain, he did keep a mark of wands and their owners, but he had been keeping too close an eye on Narcissa after she'd asked about the wand for her to do much of anything but leave.

And so Draco was left to often sigh and stare out of windows for the remainder of the summer, as if he believed that the masked boy would reappear on the bridge where they had kissed.

oOo

Harry didn't even have time to think about his wand; thankfully, the Weasleys came and got him from the Dursley house about a week before school started, much to Vernon's huffing and puffing and fighting. So with the help of the others his things were sprung from his cupboard and he was whisked away to the Burrow, from which he would travel to buy the new things he needed for school and, a few times, dream about that boy whose party he had attended. He didn't mention it to Ron or anyone else, because he wasn't even sure what he would say about it, and explaining Ron that he had been willingly snogged by some stranger boy wouldn't be a comfortable conversation, he was sure.


	3. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to always_drarry, who inspired me to write it. :) You may well get your jealous/possessive Draco requests soon enough
> 
> Listened to while writing:  
> http://8tracks.com/britomart/war-inside-my-heart  
> http://8tracks.com/scripturient/bittersweet-touches  
> http://8tracks.com/rachelsroom/homework-with-harry-potter

Once Harry arrived at the Burrow, the days passed much more quickly for him, in a whirl of half-team Quidditch and Exploding Snap. He made the trip with the Weasley crew to Diagon Alley where they found everything they would need for the fast-coming school year, and it seemed like the next day they were all being carted off to the train. The ride was uneventful, though it should be said that Harry kept a sharp eye out for that brilliant blonde hair on the platform, to no avail.

Just about the only thing of note that occurred on the ride into school was Harry going into his trunk to retrieve his school robes and realizing that his wand was nowhere to be found. "Why didn't I look for it sooner?" he fretted to Ron and Hermione upon this discovery. "You don't think they'll send me home if I turn up without it?" Of course, both of his friends assured him that they wouldn't, they couldn't! but it didn't do much to soothe Harry's upset over losing it. "With my luck, Vernon probably snapped it in half," he muttered under his breath.

"Hey, now," Hermione spoke up. "Your family is /afraid/ of magic, remember? Your uncle wouldn't have snapped your wand for fear of what might come springing out of it!" This earned a laugh out of all three of them, and did succeed in calming Harry a little. She was right; his wand was somewhere, safe and sound. No one in his house would dare to touch it. Not once did Harry consider that he might have left the wand behind on the one night of the summer which it was in his possession.

It felt a bit strange to arrive at school with no wand tucked into the pocket of his school robes, but the discomfort was wiped from Harry's mind when they arrived in the familiar, grander-than-grand Great Hall. Such was the feeling of homecoming here that Harry had to remind himself it was no time to being crying of happiness; the Slytherins looked for reasons to tease him already.

Dumbledore gave his usual quirky speech, and it took a while for all of the new First Years to get sorted, but no one ever complained at this wait. Harry enjoyed watching the new students with their small, nervous faces so much that it slipped his mind to scan the room for that platinum blonde, and the food and conversation was so good that he didn't think of it for the rest of the feast.

oOo

Over on the other side of the Hall, Draco, who had come into school with his father a few days ago to be Sorted into his house (inevitably Slytherin), was enjoying himself about as much as Harry. His new House members were a bit stand-offish but kind to him, and very polite - the sort of people that Draco knew how to move among, from growing up in an aristocratic setting.

But unlike Harry, he wasn't too distracted by his surroundings to keep from looking for (and asking his House mates about) the brown haired boy named James. No one seemed to know of or have seen him, though, and Draco was disheartened. Perhaps for some reason he hadn't returned to the school? Surely he /did/ go here, because all of the details 'James' had shared about Hogwarts certainly appeared to be true... but where was he?

Curiosity and doubt weren't enough to stave off Draco's hunger, especially considering how amazing the food was at Hogwarts was. 'It's a wonder people don't gain twenty pounds a year living here', Draco thought to himself as he had a second helping of one of the more sophisticated foods on the Slytherin table. The appetite of her teenage boy was one thing that, despite her efforts, Narcissa could not change to make him come off more properly.

But as always, the feast had to end eventually. And end it did, its memory and conversations carried out the large doors by the swarming, chattering mass of Hogwarts students led by First Years and Prefects shouting "This way! Follow me, this way!"

Draco wasn't too sure how one was to navigate such a flow, as these numbers of people weren't too comfortable and he didn't quite know where he was going. As he tried to hurry and catch up to the First Years of his house, Draco bumped into more than a couple people, muttering "Pardon me, excuse me, new student, I apologize," as he went. No one seemed to mind him all that much, but when he knocked over a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl, he did finally pause. "Ah- so sorry, mademoiselle," he said, and helped her up with strength trained in dance classes for lifting ladies out of a dip. Harry and Ron, who had been walking beside her, both paused as Hermione was returned to her feet.

But while Ron looked annoyed, Harry stared. It had been Hermione disappearing from next to him that caught his attention, and then the accent of the boy that made him look up, and then the hair. Unmistakable, that perfectly-styled shiny blonde. And that voice... the voice that had whispered to him in the moonlight and echoed in more than one dream afterward... This was definitely his boy.  
Harry didn't blink until he realized Ron was calling him, now ten paces ahead, and the blonde boy was walking away. No! Harry was going to have to find him. Wasn't he? Should he?

Before he could even consider it, the dark haired boy was pushed away with the rest of the crowd, up the stairs while he thought about how Draco mustn't have recognized him without the mask, and the brown hair... and the height... and the filled-out body... Merlin, would he even be interested in what Harry actually looked like?

oOo

Draco did finally find his way down to the Dungeons, which he didn't love the sound or look of. But he was grateful to see that once they got into the dormitories themselves, it was a lot nicer than the rest of the underground level. In fact, it reminded him a bit of his own room at home, but with more beds and more green and a window that appeared to look out into... the lake. That detail was a bit concerning.

His Housemates gave Draco the run-down on everything he needed to know for the next few days, tips and tricks and secrets, before they left him alone to pseudo-unpack his things. While he did this, he thought again about his brown-haired mystery boy. No one seemed to know him, he hadn't caught a glimpse of anyone that looked like him... Draco was wondering what /could/ be the explanation to this. Perhaps he had fallen ill and stayed home for a bit? Perhaps it just happened that the Slytherins didn't know him? Or, and he hated to even think it, but perhaps James had not returned simply because he didn't want to see Draco again?

In his heart, the blonde knew that this was a ridiculous idea, surely James wouldn't switch schools for something as silly as that, but the appearance of the thought did drip poison into his mind, and left Draco feeling scorned and snappy.

oOo

The next morning at breakfast, Harry scored a seat on the opposite side of the table from his usual one, so he would be able to see the Slytherin table, and therefore the blonde haired boy. Only Hermione had seemed to notice that something was up with him, but Harry hadn't told her what it was when she asked. When Harry kept staring over her shoulder, though, she turned around to try and sort out his point of staring. "Who are you looking for?" she asked, surprised when she saw Harry blush a little as he said 'No one'.  
Could it be that Harry was interested in someone? Plenty of people were certainly interested in him (particularly the red headed girl sitting a few seats down from them), so Hermione knew that drama was sure to spring up if her suspicions were correct. "...Well you'd better hurry up and eat, Harry, we've got first class soon," she reminded him gently.

To Harry's annoyance, they didn't have any shared classes with the Slytherins that day. He spent every pass through the corridor scanning for the blonde haired boy, and a few times thought he glimpsed him but before Harry could turn around, he would disappear again. By the time dinner came around, Harry was ready to kick something. First off, because he hadn't caught more than a glimpse of Draco all day, and second because Harry wasn't sure what he would do when he /did/ meet him. How was he even going to introduce himself? Hey, I'm Harry, you met me at your party and kissed me but my name, appearance, and backstory were all mostly lies? That didn't sound too good. What if Draco didn't even believe him?

Harry spent so much of dinner that evening fretting over what to do about Draco that by the time he was getting up the courage to go approach him, the blonde had gotten up and left the Hall with a group of other Slytherins. "Dammit," Harry muttered under his breath, tapping his hand impatiently against his thigh.

If only Figg were around /now/ to make me look more impressive, Harry was thinking to himself as he trudged back up to Gryffindor tower after Ron and Hermione. And oh, maybe he would wish he hadn't thought that, because the witch seemed to hear it.

At first, Harry was just shuffling along the corridor behind Hermione, walking past some old portrait of a tired-looking old man in an orange top hat. But the next thing Harry knew, he was somewhere else entirely... A small room, with nothing but a mirror in it. For a moment, Harry thought it might be Erised, but there was no inscription around the glass.

"...Hello?" he tried, not seeing a door on any of the four walls. "Hello, Harry!" greeted a familiar voice, and Harry spun, surprised to see Ms Figg suddenly standing behind him. "Find your prince at school yet?" she asked, and Harry went a little pink under the eyes as he stammered an answer.  
"Er- well, yes, I suppose, but- he didn't.. recognize me, without the mask and the... you know, the other stuff," he explained.  
Ms Figg chuckled. "Well of course he didn't! Even I didn't recognize ya when I first put those glamours on. So I get the sense that you were wishing you had those old things back, huh?" she asked.

Harry wasn't sure. Did he want to meet Draco again, disguised as someone so different from himself? ...He decided it seemed like the easiest option, considering he still didn't know how he was going to explain all of this smoothly, and he /really/ wanted to talk to Draco again like he had. "...Yes, if you could," he confirmed, earning another smile from Figg.

"Of course. One mysterious James coming up - but the condition, dear, remember it," Figg told Harry. "This only stays until midnight, just like before. So be careful, and don't lose track of the time."  
Harry nodded, and a minute or two later the boy reflected in the room's mirror was no longer Harry, but a taller, less skinny, more broad-shouldered version of Harry with brown hair who was likely a spitting image of the alias the boy was using. "Thank you, Ms Figg, again," he hummed, looking himself over in the mirror with satisfaction.

"Of course, my dear. And remember, midnight!" And with that, Harry found himself out in the corridor he had disappeared from. Ron and Hermione were no longer there, probably off somewhere looking for him. But Harry could catch up to them later, once he was back to himself. The few hours he had, these were for Draco.


End file.
